


A silvered wing with which to fly

by epersonae



Series: Family of Silver [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angus is Baby!Magcretia, Gen, Silver dragons, Two headcanons that taste great together, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epersonae/pseuds/epersonae
Summary: Before she was a wizard she was...something else. Before he was a grandfather, he too was something else. A story of how the best little boy in Faerun got his first home.





	A silvered wing with which to fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weatheredlaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/gifts).



> [This idea from @weatheredlaw](http://weatheredlaw.tumblr.com/post/167456944219/fic-where-lucretia-was-never-a-wizard-and-never) sparked something in my head. I've always wanted to play with the "Angus is a silver dragon" concept, but it got knocked out of my head by the "Angus is Lucretia and Magnus's kid" concept. Thanks for helping me find a way to make them play nice together.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her as she walked up the side of the mountain. In the folds of fabric wrapped to her chest, the infant stirred slightly. He’d been so quiet through all the walking, up from the town, through the forest and then up above the treeline. She looked at him fondly, sadly, nervously.

“Only a little while longer,” she whispered. She’d only have him a little while longer, she thought wistfully, gripping her staff tightly and continuing up the steep rocky pathway.

She shook a few flakes of snow from her hair as she looked down the long expanse to the valley floor below. The old man had been an invaluable contact already: when inoculated by Fischer, he’d simply smiled and nodded, and since then, he’d given her stacks of notes he’d made himself during the Relic Wars. And then he’d been the first one to notice her exhaustion, the way she wore her cloak just a little differently, all the little changes. He noticed before Boyland did, before Maureen had.

“What are you going to do about the little one?” he’d asked, softly, out of nowhere, and she’d frozen in place, her nostrils flared, trying to keep her breathing even. “Do you need…?” And she’d winced, her thoughts rushing wildly to Magnus, the river of her heart pouring into a faraway ocean. The old man had allowed that he’d probably been as much help as he could be, at least at that point, and he was never likely to be active with what she wanted to do, so perhaps, perhaps he might help her? The relief must have been clear on her face as well, for he’d drawn her into a fatherly hug, a comfort that reminded her almost too much of Merle.

So he had invited her to come to his home up in the mountains “whenever you’re ready”, tucked the map in her hands, reassured her that she was welcome any time. “I think I’m going to stick close to home,” he’d said. “Just been out too much lately.”

She dug the map out of her pocket; it flapped wildly in the wind and threatened to blow away. She hadn’t realized it would be so  _ far _ : was she really prepared for her baby to grow up out here in the wilds? But the old man was so calm, so civilized, and he did have a house in Neverwinter too, maybe the boy would live there as well? Maybe she’d see him someday, maybe this wouldn’t take very long, maybe they’d…. A gust of wind whipped her cloak away from her, and she struggled to regain her grip on the cloak, the map, the staff, the baby tied to her chest.

Then she saw the cave mouth and a wave of relief hit her: even from the path she could see warm firelight shining into the darkening afternoon. She rushed ahead, gathering snowflakes as she hurried out of the snow and into what she had to assume was the old man’s home. But she couldn’t see anyone inside, and the first cavern was vast: an enormous space, and the firelight was illusory. Just a trick to provide the idea of warmth, of a hearth. For a second, she was worried, her grip tightening on the Bulwark Staff. Perhaps this had been a mistake. Then a door opened at the far end, and the old man’s familiar form came towards her.

“Ah, miss, you’re here!” his voice was preternaturally loud in the wide open space. “Let me take your cloak, and we can come inside properly.”

He had tea for her, and a crib for the baby, and a pair of comfortable chairs for them to sit in. There was an actual fire as well, snapping and crackling cheerily. By degrees, she began to relax and take in the surroundings. She’d been in his tidy home in Neverwinter, which was full of beautiful things, art and flowers, fine furniture that was also comfortable, soft rich curtains over the windows. This reminded her of that, despite it being a cave inside of a mountain two day’s walk from civilization.

“This is...nice,” she said as she rocked the baby’s cradle.

“I wouldn’t raise a child in a cold dark cave, if that’s what you’re worrying about,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “Not even a child of the silver bloodline.”

She startled.

“How did you…? I’ve never — even Mag— even his fa—” She stumbled over her words. For a hundred years she’d kept one thing to herself. She could learn magic like a wizard, and she had learned from Lup and Taako and Merle, but in the beginning, magic had come to her naturally, had come with strange little signs. She wore long sleeves and high collars to hide the hint of silver scales that sometimes appeared when she was casting. 

Her mother had told her not to be ashamed, a dragon lineage should be a point of pride even if they weren’t lucky enough to be true dragonborn. But that was not a popular opinion, not when she was growing up, and some habits were hard to break.

She took a deep breath and looked at the baby, looked away into the fire, and then at the old man, his face calm with a gentle smile.

“You’re a sorcerer of the dragon line?” she asked.

He chuckled, then stood.

“Come.” He walked to a second door, deeper into the mountain. “He’ll be safe here for a moment.”

The next room was another vast cavern, and dark, lit primarily by the firelight and lamplight that poured from the open doorway. But she could see a sparkling in its depths. She sparked a tiny Light cantrip, and gasped. The cave was piled with treasures. More art, mostly, rows and rows of statuary. But also gems, coin, tapestries, jewelry.

“Oh.” She exhaled softly. And then a sharp inhale as the old man in front of her  _ shifted _ , his body morphing weirdly, uneasily, making her blink with the effort of holding both shapes in her mind.

Of course. They’d seen this before, had even read of it happening here. Dragons who walked among the smaller folks, among humans and elves, sometimes as heroes, sometimes as tricksters or villains, sometimes just as...a kindly old man named McDonald.

Even in his dragon shape she could tell he was smiling at her.

“I promise,” he said, and his voice echoed and boomed in the cave, “I will take very good care of your boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more in this? idea? space? If folks are interested.


End file.
